Caddy for Hire
*Author's Note: I do a fair amount of research for stories that require it, but I don't pretend to be an expert in many areas. Remember, we get paid nothing to write these stories, and I'm not willing to spend inordinate amounts of time on the details.
Invariably, whether it's the correct order of steps to hang drywall or how one qualifies for the PGA tour, someone will email me and say, "Just wanted to let you know you got such-and-such wrong." That's fine, but stories can't be changed once submitted, so it isn't going to result in an edit, and I'll never write on the same subject again.
If you're a golf purist, take the subtleties of the details of how the tour works in this one with a grain of salt. They're close enough for government work, and that's close enough for Literotica where you pay as much to read stories as I receive to write them.
And, no, I still don't have my mojo back. I just kept pecking away at this one until it was finished.
******
"Marc. Listen. I'm really sorry, bro."
"No big deal. If I'd have made the cut who'd have caddied for me anyway, right?" his brother replied lightheartedly.
"I feel awful, man."
"Why? It's not like you decided to go skiing and intentionally break your leg. Stuff happens."
His older brother sighed then said 'thanks'.
"For what?"
"For not hating my guts. I mean, you're on the friggin' PGA tour, and now you don't even have a caddy."
"I have Dad," his younger brother replied without a lot of enthusiasm.
That drew a loud snort and both brothers laughed.
"Like I said, you didn't have a caddy," Tyler Hardison told his recently-turned-pro-golfer brother. "I'm almost afraid to ask that went."
"Well, let's just say Dad knows the difference between a sand wedge and a pitching wedge now."
Tyler chuckled as he thought about their father, who'd never even liked golf, caddying for his son who'd worked so hard at the game; a game that was expensive and one their father insisted was a waste of time.
Perhaps that was true for Tyler. He had no idea how much money he'd spent over the years on clubs, balls, tees, greens fees, and other expenses. And yet the truth was he was good. Really good. He just wasn't as good as his little brother. Not even close if the truth were told.
So when Marc's talents eclipsed his, Tyler gave up playing and started caddying. There were two long years of Marc working hard both on and off the course to become good enough to get into Q school which was golf-speak for "qualifying school."
It was a brutal and very expensive road to go down with no guarantee of ever playing in a tournament for big money. The cost for all four stages of qualifying school was right around $15,000, but for those who qualified, pro golfers could potentially earn millions upon successful completion. But getting through all of the school's four stages was a feat in its own right. And after that, one had to earn a certain amount of money to remain on the tour or it was back to Q school.
Marc had worked at a local golf course in exchange for being able to play for free and also worked another job part time since he was 16 years old. He'd worked, saved, and borrowed to scrape together the money for each of the four stages, and in spite of the intense competition, he'd passed them all. In fact, he finished a very respectable fifth, and with that, he earned his pro card.
Of course, just getting one's PGA card didn't bring in any money. That still had to be earned, but it allowed him to start competing in tournaments where, if he made the cut in their Monday qualifying round, he would be able to play in that tournament on Thursday and finishing on Sunday.
So for another six months after Q school, he and Tyler hit the road playing numerous Monday qualifying tournaments which cost about $500 each and waited for their first big break.
That had come five months ago when Marc finally made the cut in the Monday qualifier for the RSM Classic at Sea Island, GA. The tournament purse was $6.6 million and Marc would make at least $25,000 even if he finished last. But to everyone's surprised, the newest man on the tour finished a very respectable 15th and took home $125,000. That was a big deal, in and of itself, but unless he could earn another hundred grand or so that year, he'd have to go back to Q school the following year and start all over again. But if he could earn enough, he'd be exempt for two years, and then the time-money clock would start again to send him back to re-qualify.
It wasn't actually $125,000 that he took he home, though. By the time Marc paid local, state, and federal taxes it was closer to $75,000, but it was so far beyond anything either he or his brother had ever made that it felt like a fortune.
For Tyler's part, there was no set formula for how a caddy was paid, but on average pro caddies who worked for top tour professionals made just over a hundred grand a year. A typical deal was a base salary of $1,500-$2,000 a week plus 5-10% of the player's winnings. In this case, because Marc felt he owed everything to his big brother, he split the after-tax winnings with him. Tyler initially resisted saying, "Dude, YOU earned this. You're the one hitting the golf ball and making the shots. I just carry your clubs."
That wasn't true and both of them knew it. Tyler could read a course as well as anyone, and his suggestions had paid off in spades numerous time during the Sea Island tournament. On one such hole Marc wanted to hit a 'hard 8' meaning an 8-iron, but Tyler insisted that a soft 7 would be the better choice. Marc listened and dropped his second shot to within six feet of the hole to make eagle on a par 5 the second day. And that had moved him up three places on the leader board and that one shot was worth well over $25,000.
What no one but Tyler knew was that his younger brother used a chunk of his remaining money to pay off the remaining balance on their dad's truck, and a significant chunk of what was left went to charity. Specifically, Marc had a soft spot for children's charities, and especially hospitals that helped kids. He gave $5,000 to two different hospitals that worked with children who'd been burned or lost limbs. It was all done very quietly and no one outside of the hospital administrators knew. Except for his brother.
He also bought his mom a new refrigerator she desperately needed and fully stocked it for her. The rest went into his own meager bank account to fund future travel and pay off some bills of his own and catch up on the back rent they owed on their shared apartment.
Today, Marc had failed to qualify for another tournament, and having failed, he now set his sights on the next one that was reasonably close to their Columbia, South Carolina, home in Hilton Head, South Carolina. As with the tournament in Georgia, he and Tyler could drive there in a few hours, eliminating the need to risk losing his clubs in a baggage fiasco on an airplane.
The RBC Heritage in Hilton Head was an annual event played at Harbor Town Golf Links on Hilton Head Island with a purse of $7.1 million.
Tyler had two weeks until the qualifier for the Heritage, and the need for a caddy was growing stronger by the day.
"I won't be able to get this cast off for another three weeks, bro. And that's if everything heals up right. Even if it does, I won't be able to lug around your clubs for at least another couple of weeks after that and maybe more."
"No worries," Marc told him. "I'll be home later tonight and we can put our heads together."
Tyler laughed and said, "The only thing that'll do is give us both a headache when they hit."
Marc was a little down after failing to qualify, but talking to his brother had cheered him up the way it always did and he laughed once he 'got it'.
"Then maybe we should just talk."
"Over a beer?"
Marc rarely drank, but a cold beer sounded really good to him all of sudden.
"You know what? I could use a cold one."
"Safe travels, Marco," Tyler said, using his brother's childhood nickname.
Marc did the same when he said, "See you in a few hours, Tye-Dye."
